Prelude
by Hbrooks
Summary: See the island from Ralph's eyes.  Ralph is a year older, and his sister came with him on that plane that crashed on that island, as did Jack's.  Tensions rise, blood is spilled, and the beast within is set free.


Chapter 1

ooooOOoooo

The world was ending.

At least that was what it felt like.

The bombs were falling upon us in a grim rhythm, all of London erupting, cracking in half. The sky was painted orange as I looked out the parlor window, the black outlines of burning buildings stark against the pyres of fire that burst every time another bomb hit. If I peered high enough, I could see the silhouettes of the German planes crawling across the dark horizon like black beetles.

"Ralph! Come away from there, are you mad?"

That was Mum. I turned and backed away just as another one fell nearby, shattering the window and scattering glass across the runner. She had Lottie by the wrist, her face pulled into a frightened grimace. "Ralph, it's time to go, the plane will be leaving soon! Do you have your bag?"

My grip tightened on my rucksack and I nodded. My tie suddenly felt too tight and the stockings started scratching my shins. We were supposed to wear our uniforms so they could identify us. The preparatory girls were supposed to be going on a different plane, but Lottie was coming with me. Pa didn't want us to be separated.

Mum led us out to the Chrysler that waited in the driveway, one of Pa's men sitting at the wheel, another holding open the back door. She herded Lottie in, then me.

"Why aren't you getting in?" my sister asked, her voice high with fear. "Surely you're not staying?"

Mum shook her head, a strand of graying blonde hair loosening from her bun and falling across her forehead. The planes of her face were amber with firelight, catching the lenses of her half-moon glasses. "Only the children can go, darling." She closed the door and handed two slips of paper to us. "Charles can take you to the tarmac, but you must go to hanger twenty-five! That's your plane. Ralph, take care of your sister! Charlotte, be brave; it won't be long, I promise."

Lottie bit her lip and sat back, clutching her identification paper to her chest. "Where are we going?"

"It's undisclosed, Lottie, but I promise that everything will be fine," Mum said, and with that the window was rolled up and the automobile roared to life. Our driver pressed down on the gas pedal and we leapt forward, out the front gate and down the bomb-torn streets of my home. Lottie had my hand in a vice-like grip, but I did not protest. She was twelve and she was a girl; she was allowed to be frightened. I was three years her senior. I couldn't show her I was just as frightened as she.

The Chrysler bumped and rattled along, swerving to avoid a thirty-foot pothole and a fire hydrant spewing columns of water onto the street. The sidewalks were filled with crowds of people, scrambling to the nearest bomb-shelter, clutching their belongings, dragging children. I leaned my head against the window, wondering if Duncan or Walter had made it onto the refuge list. Then the car hit another pothole, lurched forward and my head struck against the glass so hard I swore I could see stars.

We arrived at the airstrip shortly, and ran to hanger twenty-five, as Mum had told us. There was already a line of frightened looking schoolboys and an odd sister every now and then, all shivering in their navy blazers and vests and stockings and shiny black shoes. None looked familiar. After the line moved forward, the uniformed man standing by the plane ramp asked for our papers, checked something on a clipboard he was holding, and waved us forward along the line. Within the next half hour, the cabin was filled with the sounds of whimpering children, noses being wiped on sleeves, papers rustling and animated conversations. Lottie was on my left and a lean, olive skinned boy was on my right, cloaked in choral robes and cap. The pilot's voice echoed on the overhead, the cabin door closed, and the propellers began whirring, blurring out the sound of explosions and crumbling buildings.

"D'you reckon we'll never come back?"

I heard a boy say this from the seats behind us.

"Don't be daft, Sam, of course we're coming back. It'll only be a little while, just wait."

I didn't listen the rest of their conversation, though, because the mind-numbing tiredness had set in, and soon I fell into blackness, the crown of Lottie's head pressed against my cheek.

ooooOOoooo

I was awakened when the plane was shot. I'm not sure by what angle, by whom, or exactly when it happened, considering I was half-asleep when the side wing was blown off. But I do know that Lottie was just about tearing gauges into my arm with her fingers.

"We're going to die!" she was crying, echoing the shouts of many of the other children. The cabin had no windows, so I wasn't sure what time of day it was or how fast we were falling, but I knew we were, because my stomach was in my throat.

"Isn't the captain doing anything?" I called over the screaming boys and the grinding engine.

Lottie shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know, I don't know! I don't want to die, Ralph, I don't!"

I was about to reply when the aircraft struck something. We listed back and forth, the walls shaking, metal grating against land. Several children were thrown from their seats and the cabin began crumpling in on us. Things sounded as if they were snapping outside, perhaps trees, though I hadn't a clue because I was too busy yelling, holding my sister, my elbow being crushed against the seat beside me. I heard the other wing break off and we began rolling.

What was happening?

More shuddering, more screaming. Holes were punctured in the sides, letting in beams of golden light, but it was blurred still because we hadn't stopped somersaulting. I had rolled from my seat when the seatbelt broke, and now I honestly didn't know where I was, since I was being flung to a new even more uncomfortable place every second. I was jarred away from Lottie, but I could still hear her familiar voice above the chaotic symphony of the rest.

After several agonizing minutes, the cabin finally hissed to a stop and ceased it's rolling. I was stuck between the writhing bodies of the twins that had sat behind me as they tried to right themselves, and it took me a good several minutes to squirm away and get my bearings. Every part of my body felt bruised, and a finger felt broken. I cringed as I flexed it, then looked around. There were piles of children all over the place, falling over the sideways seats, climbing up the crooked midsection.

"We're stuck! We're trapped!" several were shouting, banging on the walls with their fists. Three children were dead from the crash, judging from their peer's sniffling and whimpering and the blood splattered against the leather backs of the plane seats. My heart clenched. What if one was Lottie?

"Lottie!" I screamed over the racket. "Lottie, where are you?"  
>For a moment my heart was in my feet with dread. I should have kept hold of her. I shouldn't have let go, I-<p>

"Ralph!"

I spun around and relief flooded me as I saw the ruffled blonde hair of my little sister. I struggled over to her, pulled her in tight, and we surveyed the wreckage together.

"Is there a way out?" she asked, her face illuminated by the golden light that seeped through the tears in the cabin.

I followed her gaze. "Don't know. Perhaps we can get open that emergency door?"

"But the captains bound to let us out, right? We'll be rescued, won't we, Ralph?"

"I don't know."

Suddenly, the cabin heaved a horrible shake and began sliding back. I became aware of the sound of lapping waves. We were being sucked back into the ocean! I spun about to face the writhing masses of children, my chest seething. Where were the grown-ups? Why were we alone, what about the pilot? Wasn't he supposed to save us? These questions swarmed my mind, making it hurt.

"Shut up, you lot!"

This I shouted at the top of my voice, and I tried not to notice how it cracked. "Stop squirming about like a bunch of babies and listen to me!"

It took a moment, but they did and about thirty pairs of wide eyes were turned towards me. My throat tightened, but it had to be done. "Now you listen to me!" I repeated. "The plane's been shot and we've hit some sort of land, but we're going to be pulled into the ocean if we stay put!"

As if to reiterate my point, the cabin shook again and a line of salty green water began to seep through various punctures at the opposite end, to which several boys yelped. "We'll all be drowned if we don't do something! There's an emergency hatch over there- if we can jar it open enough, we might be able to get ourselves out before the cabin's flooded!"

A few heads nodded, but most of the youngsters simply stared, mouths hanging open. I sighed, trying to put down the panic and clambered my way towards the emergency exit door. It was punctured down the middle, but not enough for any of us to squirm through. I started to pull at the handle:

It wouldn't budge.

"I need hel-" I was saying, but my call was answered before I could finish. The olive-skinned boy I had sat beside earlier had fallen in by my shoulder, his hands clutching and wrenching the hatch lever under mine. We pulled, we pushed, and soon several other boys my age had joined. The cabin shivered and I felt like crying. Whether it was from fear or frustration, I couldn't tell.

"It's no use," one of them yelled. "We're going down!"

The olive boy shook his head. "Come on, we're not dead yet! We slam our shoulders on it on the count of three! One, two, three!" Four shoulders collided with the harsh steel, and finally, mercifully, there was a sharp creak, a hiss of air, and an explosion of light. With another push, the hatch opened completely, and we began to shepherd the children out.

"Go on, go! The cabin's flooding!" Olive boy was calling from outside, pulling the schoolboys out unceremoniously by the arms and throwing them into the ocean. "Sure hope you can swim!"

I shivered as the seawater brushed against my shins; he was right. I pushed Lottie through and followed after her when the cabin wheezed and started sliding even more. Waves burst against the steel sides and I couldn't wait any longer. I was sure that the only remaining children were the corpses and us, but there was so much disarray I wasn't sure. But I was sure that if I stayed any longer, I would be one of them.

Olive boy helped me out and I was greeted by a gust of wet, humid air. I didn't have time to celebrate this new freedom, though, because Lottie and I were jumping into the shallows below, closely followed by our dark-haired companion. The water hit my body like a wrecking ball, soaking through my uniform, stinging my eyes, but instinct set in and I began to paddle my way towards what looked like a stretch of seashore, bordered by wicked crags of rock and a feral-looking jungle. The sky indicated that it was late afternoon, though it seemed to be bordering on dusk, for the edges were beginning to turn a pallid shade of grey, gradually blending with the gradient of dark, satin blue, and the first pinpricks of the stars began blinking on, like city lights after a power-outage.

I hoped that we were the last off the cabin.

Lottie swam rather clumsily beside me, and olive boy had already darted ahead, his long legs propelling him through the teal water like a black-cloaked dart.

I was still having trouble coming to terms with this:

The plane had been shot.

The pilot was gone.

We were alone.

I wasn't sure how old the rest were. Many were little ones, perhaps six or seven, and olive boy looked around my age; fifteen, maybe even sixteen, but hardly an adult. From what I saw, the lot was mostly boys, too. There were a few girls, probably sisters, like Charlotte. But so far, I hadn't seen any my age, which disappointed me greatly, despite everything else. Going to an all boys preparatory school made socializing with the opposite sex rather difficult, since our sister school was a good twelve miles away by the Thames, and our neighborhood was mostly elderly residents and Navy workers, like Pa.

Fancy me thinking of girls when we're in the middle of the ocean!

It was dusk by the time we struggled onto the shore and felt the warm sand beneath our bare feet: our shoes we held in our hands and we had discarded our bags in the cabin. The tide had washed the children all along the shoreline; some seemed to have stayed put, camping out on the edge, and others seemed to have wondered off in their respective cliques, staying near those they knew. We waded from the lukewarm water, the salt prickling our skin, and decided to camp a little way off from the rest. We had no fire; only the last lashes of orange left behind from the setting sun, and the bordering jungle was beginning to come alive with the harsh chants of various tropical fauna. The piece of land in which we had crashed, at least of what I could see, appeared to be an island. The sand was white, even in the fading light, and the balding cliffs that rose up on the west side were pink and salmon, glistening as row after row of green waves slammed their sides, sending up freckles of sea foam and whitewater. The shore seemed to run up about a hundred yards until it stopped abruptly at what looked like a jungle, which consisted of all manner of dark green trees, spindly creepers and standoffish briars that seemed to breathe with all the life it contained. A bird wailed, and Lottie gripped my arm hard and buried her face in my shoulder. I tried to pretend that it hadn't scared the bloody hell out of me, too. It may have been beautiful in the day, but I my skin began to crawl as I thought about what was inside that tangle of mossy green.

I blinked awake from my reveries in time to see olive boy wringing out his robe and beckoning to another boy, who looked about Lottie's age. He seemed like a miniature of olive boy, for he was wearing the same choral gown and the same skin color, though the younger had rather wavy, curly dark hair, and the senior's was straight.

"Thank you," I called to him, and he turned. His eyes were an almost iridescent shade of blue that was so pale he could have appeared blind to a casual onlooker, and his face was slender and mild, with sloping brows and almost exotic features. Syrian or Greek, perhaps, but certainly not a native Britt.

Olive boy offered a slipshod smile, pushing a fringe of sleek black hair out of his face. "Funny thing to thank for," said he, "but you're welcome." He held out a hand and I shook it. "Ellis Bennett. This is my little cousin, Simon."

Simon nodded and smiled weakly; he seemed to have gotten a bloody nose during the swim and was trying to stem it with his sleeve.

"Where are you making camp?" I asked him. "My sister and I are going by the palm grove."

"We have to find the rest of the choir," the boy called Ellis explained, and I felt disappointed. I liked him; seemed responsible enough for a schoolboy. He slung another nod of the chin my way and set a hand on his cousin's narrow shoulder. "See you tomorrow, chief."

"It's Ralph, actually. Ralph Hollis," I told him.

Ellis dipped his choral cap to us, and soon they had disappeared over the crest of a dune, ebony robes billowing in the muggy, tropical breeze.

I lay my jacket down on the sand under an especially tall palm for Lottie, who had been silent longer than I had ever known her to be, and lay down beside her on the bare shore. It was cool against my back, and it would have been relaxing save for a few aspects: we were stranded, at least to the best of my knowledge; we had no immediate source of food; there were no grownups, and the little 'uns wouldn't stop crying.

And so it has begun.


End file.
